


HOWL

by LizardWhisperer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (don't expect much comfort until the end), Age Difference, Age Regression/De-Aging, BAMF Sam Winchester, Confused Castiel, Cruel Demon, Crying, Dark fic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hell, Hurt/Comfort, Rowena's A+ Parenting, Scared Castiel, Scared Dean, Spanking, cruel witch, hellhound, surprise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-24 02:06:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13801092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizardWhisperer/pseuds/LizardWhisperer
Summary: Stealing from a demon and a witch=BOTTOM'S UP!





	HOWL

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mayalaen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mayalaen/gifts).



> OK, so this is a bit darker for Lizardwhisperer. If you came here looking for cute, fluffy de-aged SPN characters, you might want to revisit a few of my other fics.  
> This is a spanking story--that's what it started out as, a one-shot spanking fic with little more to trip anyone up who followed that tag, EXCEPT this is Lizardwhisperer and somehow plots just have a way of springing out of my keyboard. Still, hopefully just a little plot and a lot of spanking will go a long way.  
> Note: while this story didn't require a Destiel cannon, Dean and Cas are obviously close, so some of you fluff-seekers may enjoy their bond in action--it literally gets them both through.  
> Without further ado (sorry 'bout all this ado); HOWL

“Here goes nothing,” Dean told Castiel, as he inserted the barrel of the Colt into the unearthed Devil’s Gate.  The two had followed Sam’s research to find and uncover the rare gate—behind his back.  Sam had wanted to wait—the moment the spell to locate the Archangel blade pointed to Hell, the hunter had wrinkled his forehead and grimaced, “We’ll have to ask Crowley.”

“Sam, don’t you think if Crowley was willing to let that blade go, he’d have told us about it before now?  It’s his last line of protection against Lucifer and he’s not gonna lose it.  After what the devil did to him, do ya blame him?”

“So, what do you suggest, we steal it?  If he’s that desperate to keep it, imagine what he’ll do if we’re caught.  Last we heard, he was chummy with Rowena again—she’s ruthless.   No, Dean, I know we need to stop to Lucifer, but I think we need to find another way.”

Dean looked to his friend, imploring the angel with his green eyes, "Don't leave me hanging here, Cas."

“If we ask Crowley and he refuses, we’ll only tip him off that we’re after it, Sam.” Cas showed Sam an old etching of the blade,  “The last time that weapon was seen, it was used to unsuccessfully attack my brother, Gabriel, who was said to have hidden it in an impossible location.  The demon must have gone to extraordinary lengths to locate it.  I think Dean’s right, it’ll be dangerous, but the only way to get that blade from Crowley is to take it.”

Despite his unpopular opinion, Sam remained inflexible and in the end, the Winchesters decided to sleep on it--though one never went to bed at all.   Dean waited in the garage for Castiel, who harmlessly deepened Sam’s sleep, giving them time to set off on what would become a foolhardy mission.

The gate slid open, with the sound of steam escaping and a crackling, glowing with fiery runes.  A billow of dark smoke rose from the parted gate and funneled into two human shapes, one of which immediately went for Dean.  The demon was strong and quickly overwhelmed the hunter, wrapping his hands around Dean’s throat and hissing, “Hehe, wait til I tell the boss who attempted a B and E through his back door.”  Dean was losing consciousness, when the demon’s vessel glowed white-hot, its eyes burning into cinders, as it collapsed next to its dead comrade, revealing the angel standing over him, his powerful hand still outstretched.  Dean took the hand and Cas hauled him to his feet, hanging on while Dean’s coughing returned to regular breathing and the world stop spinning.  “Are you alright now, Dean?”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

As the two proceeded through the dark, dank stone-lined corridors, they both referred often to the carved piece of wood in the angel’s hand.  It had been used in the location spell and was supposed to burn when close to the Archangel blade.  They searched many empty hallways, ducking in doorways and alcoves, whenever the stewards of Hell approached.  Some were alone, but often the demons would be dragging some poor, tortured soul to or from one place of unspeakable agony or another, their prisoners screaming and begging.  Dean shuddered after one soul passed by, pleading, “Not the rack! _Anything_ but the rack!”

Dean spoke low, “Can we just find this damn thing and get the Hell outta here, Cas?”

Not long after, the magic wood burst into flames, quickly turning to a handful of ash, as Cas and Dean came to an iron door, riddled with chains and locks. “Subtle.  Do you think you can break all of them, Cas?”

Scoffing at his friend’s doubt, the angel held out his palm, his eyes glowing blue, and sent an enormous wave of energy through the barrier.  The door and its locks crashed inward, with an echo of bent, twisting metal.

“Subtle,” Dean quipped again, “Do ya think anyone heard that?”

Cas shrugged and the two entered the pitch-black room, as Dean flicked on his flashlight, just in the nick of time.  The small space was packed with booby traps, wards, and the air was distorted by a cloaking spell. 

“Maybe Sammy was right, Cas—we might not be able to get this thing, anyway.”

The angel began to use his grace to one-by-one set off the traps, while Dean hung back, near the door.  He had planned to keep a lookout, but soon found Cas’ skilled use of his power too intriguing to miss.  The devices cleared, Cas next place both palms in mid-air, the distortion wavering to reveal an ebony box on a shelf.  Unable to maintain the clarity, his powerful hands dropped and Dean watched fascinated as the angel reached forward and snatched the dark box, out of thin air.  “Cool.”

Snapping the final lock, Castiel reached in and took hold of the ancient weapon.

“Yahtzee.”

Cas looked over his shoulder, regarding Dean like he had used a foreign word, then his bright blue eyes narrowed in the flashlight beam as actual foreign words were uttered behind the hunter.

As the Latin rang out from the shadows, Cas was amazed to see the box grow, both in size and weight, until he could barely hold it.  He let the heavy thing drop (not very far) to the floor, turning to face the doorway.  The young boy standing there looked down at his Batman t-shirt, then back at him with wide green eyes, “Cas, what the Hell did you do?”  The tiny boy with messy hair stood there in a tan shirt with a blue collar and dark blue jeans, looking horrified.

“I-I didn’t do nuthin’!”

Cas’ little voice whined back.  He looked at the large, serrated blade in his hand, “What’s this?”

“That’s _mine_.” An accented voice snapped, as the knife was snatched from the child’s weak grasp.

Looking up to see a dark man in a dark suit scowling down at him, Cas’ lip wobbled.

“Change us back, Crowley!  What the Hell?”

“What the Hell, indeed, Little Squirrel?  Did I invite you into my house to take what’s mine?”

“We knew you wouldn’t give it up and we need it—Lucifer’s planning something big.”

“I could care less what his plans are, as long as they don’t involve me.”

During this exchange, Cas had backed away from Crowley, clinging to Dean’s taller frame, as soon as he reached him. “I wanna go home, Dean.”

“What’s wrong with him?  And why’s he younger than me?  Cas is thousands of years old.  Crowley, I swear…””

The demon frowned and shrugged, “Maybe Mother can answer that.”

Rowena stepped into the doorway, her long, body-hugging red gown reflected in the flashlight, “No idea, Dean.  The spell was designed to de-age a human, maybe being an angel skewed the results.  Either way, we’re bigger than you now—so behave.”

Realizing their weapons were gone, Dean hugged the littler boy back, leaning in to whisper in his ear, “Cas, do you still have your mojo?”

“M-my what?”

“Are you still an angel?  C’mon, buddy, I need you to wipe the floor with these two.”

Cas just buried his face in Dean’s chest, sniffling and shaking his head, “Don’t know what that means.”

Oh, crap—not only was Cas even younger than Dean and the witch’s spell had messed with his mind, but his grace seemed to be _gone_. 

“Change us back, witch—you can keep your damn blade.  Make Cas an angel again.”

Rowena laughed, “Oh, Fergus, did you hear?  It’s even better than I imagined—they’re both tiny _and_ human!” Bending down toward Dean and his trembling friend, she added, “You’ll stay this way as long as it pleases us.  And we fully intend to keep what already belongs to my son, boy.”

Crowley snapped his fingers and the four of them appeared in the king’s throne room.  Though the space was larger than the storage closet, it was still dimly lit with flaming sconces, the firelight playing off the ancient walls and casting deep shadows.  Cas let out a cry of surprise and burrowed deeper into Dean, so the hunter hefted him up and let him wrap his little arms around his neck.

“Mother, get the door, please.”

A wave from the witch and the heavy metal doors slammed shut, with finality.

Crowley laid the blade down on a shelf near the throne, then turned to the children, “I’ll just keep this here for now, don’t want Moose finding it’s hiding place, too.  I’m sure he’ll come looking for you two soon, after all—my demons are combing the halls for him.  I think his brother alone will be worth Sam’s soul, but just think what he’ll offer for the little angel, too.”

“Sam will never give you his soul, he’s smarter than that.  You’re both in for a world of hurt—”

“Truer words were never spoken, Dean—but it’s you two that will be hurting.  Tell him what sort of torture you’ve got planned for them, Fergus.”

Crowley hesitated, clearly put on the spot.  “Well, I suppose they’d both get pretty lonely, jailed apart in the dungeons.  It’s cold blackness, adjacent to the racks, so you can hear souls scream day and night.”

Rowena looked like her son had peed on her shoes.

“The dungeons?  Since when is the King of Hell so merciful?  The Winchesters have had you wrapped around their—well now _little_ fingers for too long. They imprisoned you, humiliated you. Demon Dean usurped your authority then abandoned you.  Cas broke the angel tablet, tricked you out of Purgatory's souls, and had you running scared. Aren't you a demon—aren't you Hellspawn? _Act like it_.”

 

With her final words, the witch slashed her hand down and the boys were forcibly pulled apart and slammed sitting side-by-side onto a crude wooden bench.  They both struggled to move, Cas straining to reach Dean, his eyes filled with tears.  “Squirm all you want, you’re not getting up until my son or I take you off.”

Rowena casually took a seat on an ornate chair, with a velvet cushion.  Glancing toward the throne, she further needled her son, “Well, Fergus?  Are you king or are you...something else?”

Crowley towered over the boys, his eyes flashing red, “I _am_ king and it’s time, Dean, that you, your brother, and this insufferable angel recognized that.”

“You should just wear a fucking crown, that would help.  I know this burger joint that gives away paper ones—"

The slap to his face took Dean off guard.

“Watch your mouth, boy.“  A nod to Mum and Dean’s mouth was full of foul-tasting suds.  Crowley leaned in close and snarled at the young hunter. “There’s far worse things here in Hell you could taste than soap.”

Dean spit the caustic foam in the demon’s face.  Direct hit. "Bite me."

Swiping his sleeve down his face, Crowley lifted Dean roughly off the bench and tucked the flailing little child under his arm, taking aim at the seat of his jeans.  A few rapid slaps and Dean was swearing and threatening and punching the demon with everything he had.  Rowena clapped her hands, delighted at her son’s actions.  Dean continued to fight, though the punishment soon began to take its toll on his small body.  Demon strength made Crowley’s hand as hard as a frat paddle—and it HURT.  As Cas saw his friend punished, he burst out crying, so fighting back his own tears, Dean petitioned, “Fine! Hurt me all you want, you bastard [sob]—but let Cas go.  He doesn’t even know where he is and he’s scared.  He’s so little…[sob]”

Crowley’s punishing hand stopped, mid-swat and Rowena immediately narrowed her eyes at her disappointing son.

The only sounds besides Cas’ bawling were Dean’s heavy breaths and desperate sniffles.  _Don’t let him see you cry, Dean._

“Hurt you _all_ I want, did you say?”

SHIT.  Dean had endured decades of torture in the pit.  Now the hunter was back in Hell, small and vulnerable, and at Crowley’s mercy—of which, the hunter knew the demon to have none.  This was a man whose soul was corrupted over centuries and twisted into something else entirely—something abhorrent, perverse, uncaring.  Crowley wasn’t spanking the boy to teach him a lesson or deter his behavior—the demon wasn’t even exacting revenge.  Dean was having his ass handed to him because Crowley _enjoyed_ handing his ass to him-- simple as that. 

Finally, Dean was scared. 

Lost in thought and consumed by the throbbing in his backside, the boy hadn’t noticed that Crowley’s gaze fell on his little distressed friend.  “Mother, I think I’m going about this wrong.” Dean was unceremoniously plopped back on the bench, yelping as his bottom hit the seat and stuck there.

Rowena sat forward in her chair, skeptical of her son’s new plan. “Oh? No spanking?”

The demon scooped the keening five-year-old up, by his upper arms, callously clutching the tan material. “Oh, yes, there will be spanking.  I’m afraid I chose the wrong bottom.”

“Leave him alone, Crowley!” Dean began a futile struggle against the bench, ignoring the increased pain, as his sore seat pressed harder into the wood.

Cas was beyond terror, his tear-soaked face craned around as he called desperately for his friend, “Dean! Deeean!”  The tiny angel kicked his legs and tried to twist out the rough grip.

“Get your filthy hands off him, you son-of-a-bitch!”

The demon tsked, as he carried the wriggling boy toward his throne, “Tut, tut, Dean…’bastard, son-of-a-bitch’…it’s time you wrote some new material.”

“Lemme go!  Lemme go! Please!”  Cas didn’t know who this mean Crowley was, only that he’d hurt his friend.  The lady was mean, too, she smiled when Dean got a spanking.  Cas wanted out of this place and away from these awful people—he wanted to go home.  While he couldn’t remember where that was, he could see the place—a library, a shiny kitchen, a glowing table—they all said home.

“Sorry, kiddo,” said Crowley, not the least bit sorry, “In time, but first—” Crowley perched on his throne and pressed the little boy face down, across his knees. “We’ll play a game.”

Cas’ shrill cry of horror as Crowley bared his bottom, pierced Dean’s chest, like a blade.

“It's called, _How to hurt a Winchester_.”

“Crowley….please…” Dean’s voice cracked, his plea a whine.

From her own throne, Rowena sing-songed, “I know!  I know! Ye hurt someone he loves.” Her voice darkened, “Light him up, Fergus.”

Dean closed his eyes and winced, as the demon landed a tremendous slap on his friend’s tiny bottom.  The clap of skin on skin was deafening in the stone room, but paled next to the screech of pain that followed.

Dean’s heart pounded in his chest and his eyes watered anew, but Crowley continued, undaunted, pounding the helpless child’s backside and ignoring the noise he was producing from the other end.

Cas howled his head off, trying to catch his breath enough to cry for mercy. “St-st-staaaaaawp--wwwwwaaaaaahhhhh! Deeeeeeeeeeen--waaaahhh”

Dean opened his eyes and shook his head rapidly, rattling himself out of his own torment—the hunter couldn’t move, but Cas needed him.

“Stop, Crowley! He’s had enough! Stop, damn you!”

Not missing a beat—literally, Crowley quipped, “I’m already damned, Squirrel—and whether Cassie’s little bum can take more is irrelevant.  Can you?”

“Please, please—just spank me!  He didn’t even do anything, it was my idea to come here…please.”

“As much as I love begging, Dean, there’s no need.  You’ll get another turn when I’m through blistering this little angel, here.”

“No…”

“And as far as what he’s done?  Oh, Castiel’s been a pain in my ass for years now—the least I can do is return the favor.”

All the while the demon spoke casually, he beat a steady rhythm on the glowing backside on his knee, while its owner quivered under his iron hand and kicked constantly, unable to escape the onslaught.  His cries of pain had become one steady long wail, interrupted only by choked hiccups and a desperate need for air.

Dean Winchester grimaced at the appalling sight, his own eyes wet with tears.  From the bench, he had a clear view of his friend’s misery.  Even in the dim light, Dean could see Cas’ reddened skin beginning to darken under the severe punishment. Aside from his flailing legs, Cas lay still, his energy spent on bawling his eyes out, his voice grown hoarse.  There was nothing Dean could do. But Cas needed him. 

“I’m here, Cas, I’m right here, buddy.  It’s ok, Cas.”

Crowley snickered, shaking his head, as his hand continued to rise and fall.  “Dean, my boy, I think it’s safe to say that Cassie here is NOT ok.”

“Shut up!  Cas, listen to my voice—I’m here.  Even if I could move, I wouldn’t leave you, buddy.  I don’t care what he does to me.  If you can take that kind of punishment, I can, too…”

Cas raised his head, hiccupped and coughed, trying to see his friend through his blur of tears.  He swallowed his sobs and managed, “D-Dean?”

“That’s right, It’s Dean—I’m here.  Cas, I’ve never known anyone braver than you—hang in there, buddy.”

From her corner, Rowena rolled her painted eyes, “Oh, pu-lease,” the witch poked her finger in her mouth and pretended she would vomit, “ _Cas, you’re soooo brave_ …psh, I once wore out three switches a day on Fergus--every day for a week.  And he was even more wee.”

The torturous slaps finally stopped.  Cas’ sobs echoed around the chamber, so the King of Hell raised his voice. 

“I remember that, Mother.  I bled.  Needed a doctor by Friday.”

“And I got you one, didn’t I?”

“Yes.  But you didn’t like his advice, so you spelled his tongue away--and I got another beating Saturday.”

Dean could give a rat’s ass how many times Rowena beat her son--he was just grateful that Cas’ marathon spanking had finally stopped.  Still, the snarky hunter couldn't resist blurting out, "Good."

Rowena turned away and dismissed the demon with a wave of her hand, “Well, get on with it.  Like I said, ye’ve had worse.”

But Crowley didn’t resume the spanking.  He ignored the sobbing, twitching child on his lap a moment, as he narrowed his eyes at the other boy.  Dean Winchester sat ramrod straight, his jaw clenched and his wet eyes locked with the demon’s.  Everything about the boy said, “Come get me," though the only voice to be heard belonged to poor Cas.

Suddenly, the king was on his feet, carrying his thoroughly-spanked victim under his arm, Cas’ mottled red bottom shining like a beacon in the shadowy room.  Dean never took his eyes off them, as Crowley replaced the boy’s pants, ignoring his yelp.  The young hunter watched with fascination as the demon patted the seat of Cas’ dark jeans, then parked his burning end on the bench, a distance from Dean.  Cas’ cries got louder at the contact but the demon leaned in close, speaking low, “It’s over now, lad.”

While Crowley’s uncharacteristic tenderness didn’t go unnoticed, Dean continued to glare at the piece of evil who had hurt his angel and was met with equal regard.  

“Well, Righteous Boy—your turn.”

As Crowley lifted Dean up by his upper arm, Cas reached out for his friend, “Dean!”

“It’s ok, Cas.”

Marching the young hunter towards his thrown, Crowley called back, “Yes, Cassie, it’s ok.  I won’t damage your precious Dean—well, not all of him.”

Dean Winchester didn’t even struggle, as he was upended over the lap of a demon and his pink bottom bared.  Just before the first shocking slap, Dean heard Cas murmur, “Be brave, Dean.”

The words hit the boy the same time as the demon’s hand and Dean managed to swallow his yelp.  A few more spanks relit the fire Crowley had started earlier on the boy’s jeans and Dean had to bite down on his lip.  The fire blazed into an inferno, as Crowley spanked Dean in earnest; fast, heavy, stinging whacks that took his breath away.  Dean heard Cas’ words in his head and steeled himself against the onslaught.  Cas had been de-aged to an honest-to-goodness five-year old, but Dean was in his thirties, stuck in a kid’s body.  And he was a hunter.  And he was _Dean Fucking Win_ —“Ow!”  Obviously determined to get a reaction, Crowley laid into the center of Dean's lower backside, right where he sat—over and over and over and—“OW! Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-owwwwwwwww!!!!!”  Dean was equally horrified over his loud cries and the realization that he’d been kicking his bow legs, wildly.

“That’s more like it.  Thought you’d become _King Fergus, the Soft_.” The witch spat the last two words, like an insect had flown into her mouth.

Unfortunately, for Dean, Crowley’s mother had a way of getting under her son’s skin like no other and the demon’s vexation truly focused its attack on the crease between Dean’s bottom cheeks and thighs—and Dean attacked right back with tormented howls and a few escaping tears. Damn.

“Stop!  Ow! Ow! Not there! Staww…”  The rest was lost in a choked sob.  The terrible seat-sizzling continued and Dean could just make out Cas’ voice over the deafening slaps.  “Dean! Dean!  You can cry, you’re still brave.”

At that, Dean collapsed in a heap, his head hung toward the floor, his legs only involuntarily flinching at each searing spank.   Dean Winchester sobbed his heart out, right there on Crowley’s knees.  The change in the boy motivated the demon to finally land his hand elsewhere, re-warming the meatiest part of the hunter’s bottom.  Dean didn’t care—it was all one raging inferno back there and sitting was something he knew he’d miss, but sometimes you have to say goodbye to things.

While the demon had fully intended to force the hunter into submission, Dean’s surrender inadvertently brought the usually stoic hunter something else—release. Over Crowley’s lap, the boy’s whole world had become pain and vulnerability (his ass was literally in the demon’s hands).  Dean Winchester had never been one to easily accept his fate, but little Cas’ stalwart encouragement, despite his own pain, granted Dean permission to embrace what he was feeling—and react accordingly.

As Dean sobbed his way through the relentless spanking, Crowley would occasionally land him a zinger—or worse, revisit that battered crease and when Dean would howl he was vaguely aware of an echo.  The third time it happened, Dean lifted his head and listened intently, over the sharp slaps.  Now Dean didn’t have to look to know his back end was red, but as he clearly heard the howl of a hellhound, he felt the flush drain from his face.  “No…no,no,no,no—” Dean was struggling anew, kicking wildly and clawing at his captor’s leg. Crowley leaned a heavier hand on the young hunter, warning, “Be still, Squirrel, or Mother will still you.”

But Dean couldn’t hear the threat over his heart, his chest pounding twice as fast and hard as the hand on his rear.  As the kicking and hollering continued, there was little doubt the boy on his lap was suffering, but these cries were different—Dean Winchester was scared.

“Dean?” Cas’ trembling voice couldn’t hide his own fear.

The monstrous dog again answered Dean’s desperate cries, it’s haunting bay resonating demonic roars and growls, as it neared the throne room doors—it was _close._

“D-don’t let it in! P-please, Crowley, no!”

So frantic was the young hunter’s struggle, that he didn’t notice the ceaseless spanking had ceased.  “Is little Squirrel afraid of my doggie?  Maybe I should give her you two brats as chew toys.”

Rowena scoffed, disgusted by her son’s idle threat—the “King of Hell” (the witch even thought sarcastically) obviously had no intention of killing his prisoners, or he’d have already done so.  While the beatings had been entertaining, Rowena felt she was simply watching a cat play with its food—except Crowley didn’t have it in him to seriously harm either of his Winchesters or their angel—truth was the king _liked_ them.  Pathetic.  How could a child break his mother’s heart so?

Bluff or no bluff, the demon’s words had nonetheless hit the boy’s last nerve. Dean was sure the

Hellhound was there for him—there to drag him away deep into the pit.  The torment of reliving the worst moment of his life far outweighed Dean’s vulnerable position, as the little Winchester wrapped both arms around the demon’s leg and held on for dear life. 

‘Well, as long as you’re not interested in getting up—” The demon raised his hand again to resume the spanking, when there was a tremendous crash and both doors dented in.  The clear canine yelp of pain outside the room was followed by a glow under door and the dying yowl of a Hellhound.  "Juliet?"  Rowena was on her feet as the damaged floors flew open, banging on the walls behind them and the tall, menacing figure of Sam Winchester entered, brandishing the demon blade.  Dean had his eyes shut against the sounds of the Hellhound, but opened one when little Cas shouted, “Sammy!”

“Moose, you’re just in time for the grand finale.”

Crowley’s hand fell, landing yet another cruel smack to Dean’s raw rear.  Sam lunged for the demon, but found himself frozen.  Rowena snickered, “Oh, Fergus, I’ve just got to shrink him, too—bet he’ll make that very same bitch face when you smack _his_  little bum.  You missed the show, Moose, what took you so long?”

From behind the hunter’s frame, strolled Gabriel, the Archangel.  “He was waiting on me.  Sorry, we’re late, witch, but Sammy and I had a past to work out.”  The angel wiggled a finger and Sam was free of the freezing spell, striding toward Crowley, who’s jaw was hanging.  The demon raised his hand from Dean's bottom, intending to repel the hunter, but instead found he, himself thrown with force across the room, where he bounced off a stone wall and fell in a heap.  Rowena was similarly thrown to the floor, as Gabe blew on his finger, his hand in the shape of a gun.  Crowley had been yanked out from under Dean so quickly, that the boy was left sprawled face-down over the throne, in too much shock to do anything but sob. 

Strong, gentle arms scooped him up. carefully turning him over, as Dean buried his face in Sam’s chest, safe at last.  “I’ve got you, Dean.”

Sam gingerly replaced his brother’s pants, covering his battered backside, then nearly tripped, when the pint-sized version of their friend collided with his legs, wrapping pudgy little arms around his knees. “Sammy!”

The hunter bent down and lifted Cas up, who immediately curled into Dean’s chest.  “Dean got a spanking, Sammy.”

“I saw, Cas.  You're both safe, now, little guy.”

“I got one, too.  Crowley’s a mean man.”

“That’s because he’s not a man, Cas.”

Gabriel easily hauled the stunned demon and his mother over to the bench and used his grace to pin them both there.  The irony of their situation was not lost on either of them, but while Rowena sat terrified, Crowley got angry.

“This is my house, angel!  Demons don’t just stroll into heaven—”

“That’s cuz they’d melt, moron.”

“No matter, you can’t just barge in here and kill my hound, assault my family and—”

“And just whose family did you assault, huh?  You ok, boys?”

Gabriel approached the sniffling children and placed a glowing hand on Dean’s head, “There ya go, kiddo.”

As the Archangel lifted his squirming little brother away from Dean, Cas whined and reached for his friend, but he stopped struggling when the angel touched his forehead and the ache in his bottom was finally relieved.  “Better, Cassie?”

“Uh huh, thanks, mister.”

Gabriel turned to his captors, “Why doesn’t he know me? What did you do to him, witch?”

Rowena looked nervous, “I don’t know, really—just a de-aging spell.  Never tried to de-age an angel before.”

“Well, fix them— _now_.”

Rowena intoned the Latin and as Dean grew into his full size, Sam made to put his older brother down, but Dean clung to him another moment, wiping his wet face on Sam’s flannel and breathing through the after-shocks of his heavy sobbing.  Sam said nothing, just hefted his brother more securely in his arms.  Gabriel set a full-sized Castiel on his feet, complete with holy tax accountant cosplay.

“Hello, Gabriel—thank you for coming, brother.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes, “Gabriel?  The Archangel?  I thought you were dead.”

“So does Heaven, so do me a solid, huh?”

Crowley shook his head, opening and closing his mouth, but no sound came out.  The king grew more desperate to speak as Sam took a seat on his thrown, resting Dean in his lap.  The older hunter finally found his own voice, “Thanks, Sam, you were right.  Marching into Hell was a stupid plan.”

“As long as you’re ok, Dean, it doesn’t matter now.  Besides, you obviously paid for it.”

"We both did."

Cas stood by, listening to the quiet exchange.  He tried to comfort Dean, through their bond, but something was wrong.  “Gabriel, I’m afraid I was restored without my grace.”

The shorter angel spun on the witch, “I said _fix_ him! Where’s the rest?”

“I-I don’t know!”

Gabe started to pace back in forth dramatically, along the length of the bench, his hands clasped behind his back. “You see, witch, here’s the thing.  You know that bit in the Bible about ‘In the beginning’?  God made light, God made the Earth—then God made _me_.  I’m one of the big guy’s OG’s, do you know what that means?  It means that angels that came later are weaker—the younger the weaker, in fact.  You wonder why Cas shrunk younger than Dean? Huh? Because, in Heaven, he’s a young—the youngest, in fact.”  He turned to Cas, “That’s why Dad’s got such a soft spot for you, bro—parents always favor their baby.”  Cas nodded, seemingly not surprised by this information.

Gabriel began his pacing anew, “So, you see, you two, if you’ve ever thought Castiel was a formidable opponent—you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

Crowley and Rowena both stared at the Archangel, then past him.  Gabriel followed their gazes to the shelf by the throne.  He walked over and lifted up the Archangel blade, “You see, King Crowley, this was your downfall, today.  The moment Cas touched it, angel radio went haywire.  Believe it or not, it was forged in Heaven, but it’s been missing.  So, I dropped by The Winchester pad to see where my brother was and after me and Sammy talked a thousand Tuesdays, I found him.”

Sam rolled his eyes, helping a more composed Dean to his feet, who was happy to have The Colt, yet lamented his Batman tee.

“I’ll be keeping this, thanks.  And you,” Gabriel pointed at Rowena with the powerful blade, “will be restoring my brother’s grace.”

“But I don’t—”

“You’re lying, witch.  I’m a fucking Archangel, you don’t think I know?”  Gabriel’s eyes glowed blue, as he bellowed, “FIX HIM!”

Crowely cringed and stared at his mother, imploring her with his eyes.  Rowena trembled and teared up, “I Can’t!  I don’t know where it is!”

The doors slammed shut, demons banging on the outside, as the room filled with light, the awesome sight of Gabriel’s six wings shadowed the walls and wind swirled in the closed space.

Then it all stopped.  Things blown into the air settled and the light faded, Gabriel’s eyes returning to normal.  He faced the throne.

“Hey, Deano, guess what? I got a better idea!”

Clapping his hands together twice, Gabe turned back to the bench, where sat two children—a little red-haired girl and a pudgy little boy, with uneven bangs.  The girl burst out laughing at the fat boy’s pleated shorts and pilgrim collar, until she noticed the hideous pink, frilly dress on her own body.  She tried to spell it away, but found her power defunct.

“Now, who’s first?”

Both children pointed at one another, immediately.

“Oh, now, let’s be civil and take turns, ok?  How about we start with porky, here?”  Gabriel lifted young Crowley off the bench, ignoring his kicking little stumps and carrying the silent child to the throne, where he handed him to Dean.  “I’m sure you’ll enjoy returning the favor this little demon so graciously bestowed on you.”

Dean regarded the boy with the trembling lip, too frightened to struggle any more.

“Oh, I almost forgot.”

A snap and Crowley’s voice came back with a vengeance, as he started to plead in an adorable little English accent, “Dean, you know you’re better than this, better than _me_ \--please don’t.”   

“It won’t work, if you’re trying to get her to cooperate.  She hates him."

Gabe looked at Rowena, her arms crossed defiantly over her ruffled chest, a stubborn scowl on her face.  “She’ll have her turn and don’t worry, by the time I’m through with her she’s gonna wish she never heard of grace."  Holding up his hand, the angel suddenly held a metallic paddle. "This is The Witch Beater."

Cas started, "Brother, is this something new?"

"Yup, Cassie--just invented it.  But for now, have at it, Dean.”

Sam vacated the throne, motioning his brother to have a seat. “He really did a number on you, Dean.  You’ll feel a lot better.  Hell, I wouldn’t mind a go.”

“You’ll have to wait, Sam.  Hey, Cas, buddy?”  Dean handed the increasingly-shocked little king over to his friend, “why don’t you go first?  I dragged you into this mess, after all.”

"Thank you, Dean," Cas nodded, carrying the demon to his own royal seat.  As  Cas sat, Crowley clutched the lapels of his trench coat, “Oh, c’mon, Cas!  Have a heart.” 

"Ah, I suppose that was your heart you used to beat me sore?"

As Cas plopped the boy across his knees and lowered his shorts, the little demon became desperate, promising, “I’ll give you anything!  You’re supposed to be benevolent!  Angelic! You’re supposed to praise—to sing!”

Cas raised his palm high over the wriggling, ample bottom.

                                                       

                                                                   “And you’re supposed to howl.”

 

 

 

  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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